


Damned Strength

by CinnaStarks



Series: Inquisitor Izuna [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnaStarks/pseuds/CinnaStarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wears a mask that Dorian wants nothing more than to rip off. </p><p>Companion piece to Not Yet (http://archiveofourown.org/works/3277874).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned Strength

_Damn her strength._ Dorian thinks as he watches Inquisitor Lavellan’s reaction to her paramour’s condition. It’s cold, like the snow he carried her through months before. Her hands shake, but can only be seen for a moment before she stuffs them into her pockets. Tears are blinked away. Words are rigid. She stands up straight.

 _Damn her position’s demand for strength._ He corrects himself. _Damn the eyes that wait to witness her stumble. Damn everyone who sees her as incapable of making mistakes._

The surgeon is done talking.

“Inquisitor, if I might have a word with you in private?” He asks, fully prepared not to take no for an answer. Thankfully, he does not have to.

“Of course.”

It takes every ounce of Dorian’s self-control not to drag her to his quarters. Instead, she leads him to hers. Still shaking fingers lock the door behind them. When they reach her chambers, those same fingers latch onto a bedpost for support.  

“Izuna, talk to me.”

The silence doesn’t make him squirm as much as her unchanging expression. Lips still spread thin across her face in a straight line. Grey eyes still glare at the floor.

“Please.”

“One day.” Izuna’s voice, as soft as it is, bounces off the wood paneling in an eerie echo. “I was one day late.” The words are sparks that threaten to light the room ablaze. Knuckles go white around the post. “One fucking day of fucking around because I thought I could have one day of peace!” By the time she finishes, a sentence has turned into a scream.

Electricity generated by the lightning mage’s instability teases at Dorian’s flesh. One current strikes a nerve. He jumps.

Tanned cheeks flush a burnt red. “I-“ She can’t blink back the tears now. “-I should be stronger. I’m sorry.”

Dorian Pavus is an Altus, a Tevinter blueblood whose ancestors thrived on the suffering of others. Tevinter bluebloods did not hug. Mothers did not hug their children. Husbands did not hug their wives. Friends displayed little, if any affection towards one another that went beyond words of encouragement.

Izuna collapses into his embrace as soon as it is offered. The salty stains her tears will leave can be washed out and the wrinkles, pressed. Sparks still jump from her skin to his own, but it is far from the worst pain Dorian has ever felt. His ancestors roll in their graves and he lets them turn.

“Damn strength.”


End file.
